


stay awake with me (take your hand and come and find me)

by BansheeLydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ficlet, Fluff, Hurt Isaac, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeLydia/pseuds/BansheeLydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He half expects pain when he wakes.  He’s woken up a couple of other times, briefly; never opened his eyes, but knew he wasn’t alone.  He’s listened to Allison talking to him, and Kira, and Scott and Lydia.  It’s a strange but heartwarming feeling; he’s not alone.  He has friends, people to care for him, be here for him.</p>
<p>He has a pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay awake with me (take your hand and come and find me)

**Author's Note:**

> ohfuckthisshit on tumblr sent me the prompt 'Derek/Isaac after Isaac got electroduced in 3b with Derek visiting & healing Isaac in hospital instead of Scott? And maybe them talking about the glas throwing scene?'
> 
> I've never written for Derek/Isaac before, but this prompt was so perfect, and I loved the chance to write a kind of resolution between Derek and Isaac after what happened in 3a. 
> 
> link to post on tumblr: http://maliaslydiamartin.tumblr.com/post/123564344459/so-its-a-long-shot-cause-you-didnt-list-that
> 
> Warnings for description of electrocution and injuries, as this is set after Isaac gets electrocuted in 3b.

He’s not sure how long he’s out for.

He knows that he hurts. He hurts so much. Like his every nerve has been fried. He knows that he isn’t healing. Or if he is, he’s not healing normally.

He remembers the initial feeling. He’d asked Derek once, what it felt like to be electrocuted. He’d known Derek had been tortured with it enough times before.

His reply had been simple. “It hurt,” he’d answered shortly. “Because it was designed to hurt.”

But this was different. He remembers it slamming into him, not so much pain, but losing control of his own muscles. He remembers the way his muscles contracted, the way he trembled as the currents ran through him. He remembers everything tunnelling; no sound, no sight, no feeling beyond the electricity; the only real thing was the smell of his own flesh burning.

It hurts when he wakes. It’s this consuming kind of thing, the kind of aching feeling he can’t ignore. He can’t open his eyes, either, can’t hear anything. He’s isolated, floating in a sort of vague half-awareness, yet he knows he isn’t alone. He can sense it.

_Scott_ , he wants to say.

Maybe his lips move, maybe they don’t. He can’t tell and a second later, he’s out again.

\--

He comes to again, briefly, to the sensation of not being able to breathe. His lungs hurt, like they’re constricted. His heartbeat doesn’t feel right; it’s like it’s a full moon and that first terrifying moment before the change, where he can’t breathe, his heart’s working double time, and his body itches as it prepares to become something else. 

He’s more aware, now, of being on his back. When his fingers twitch, he feels the cool sensation of sheets under them; he’s in a bed. His muscles ache so much.

He feels a hand on his wrist and everything eases. It’s almost like morphine, cool and relieving, yet it doesn’t leave him feeling loopy or sleepy. He just feels relieved at the reprieve.

He turns his head and he can hear things, just slightly; the quiet beep of a heart monitor, the rustle of sheets, the quiet breaths of someone to his left. 

“Scott,” no sound comes out, but this time he knows his lips shape the name.

Scott doesn’t reply and Isaac doesn’t try again, just lets the darkness claim him. 

\--

It feels like days before he can finally open his eyes. The initial assault of the bright lights make him wince, turn his head, then hiss as his face touches the pillow beneath him.

It’s slow, the gradual awareness of his surroundings. He’s still not quite fully there. Everything still seems muffled, like he’s underwater. He can smell the sharp smell of chemicals and bleach; hospital. He knows the sight of the white, clinical room he’s in well, even before he acknowledges the sound of the heart monitor. He’s been to the hospital enough times that it strikes instant fear in his heart, even as memories flood back and he knows his father won’t be here, won’t be angry, he won’t be locked away – _please, dad, please_ –

“Isaac.”

_Allison_.

He flicks his gaze to her. His eyes are half lidded and a little itchy, but her face comes into focus. She looks tired, brown curls limp around her face. She offers a small smile when he looks at her though and there’s clear relief in her dark eyes.

“Hi,” she says softly.

He licks his dry lips. His mouth feels chapped on the inside, his tongue swollen. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out.

“Two days,” she answers his unspoken question. “You almost came to a few times, but your body needs to rest and heal. It’s good to see you awake, though. We were so worried.”

He licks his lips again. “Scott?” the word doesn’t quite sound right and he frowns.

“Don’t worry,” she soothes. “Mrs McCall said this is normal. You need time to heal and that means all of you, brain included.” She waits for an acknowledgement, but when she gets none, continues, “He’s been so worried, too. He feels bad. Like he should have been there to stop you getting hurt. He feels guilty.” She looks away, eyes going glassy for a second. “We all should have been there, should have stopped it from happening.”

He tries to shake his head. No. It’s not their fault. They’d tried to stop it. It isn’t their fault and he doesn’t want her or Scott, or any of them, to feel bad for something beyond their control. No one had seen it coming. 

“Kira caught it, the wire,” Allison says. “She...put it out.”

_Kitsune_ , Isaac thinks, remembering what Allison’s told him about kitsunes, reading to him from her bestiary. Makes sense she’d managed to stop it.

She sits down, then, takes his hand carefully as she fills him in on everything. He listens attentively, but it isn’t long before he feels tired again. His body is healing, but so, so slowly, and the energy expenditure of trying to heal is taking a lot out of him, without much results. But the only thing he can do is wait.

“Scott’s out, searching for Stiles,” Allison says. 

Isaac wants to ask what happens when they find him now he’s possessed by this nogitsune, but there’s a scared look in her that tells a different story from the hardness to her expression. He wouldn’t consider himself friends with Stiles. But they’ve been allies. Stiles is an innocent. The idea that they may have to take him down is a hard one to even consider. He can’t even try and imagine what it’s like for Scott and Allison, and Lydia, to think about it. To think about the possibility they may have to put down their friend.

“He’s going to feel so bad,” she says softly, a concerned pinch to her mouth.

He knows she means Stiles. Isaac thinks about how he felt after everything settled once Jackson turned from kanima to werewolf. He remembers how guilty he felt about how vehemently he’d gone after Lydia and Jackson. He’d been willing to kill, at first, and had focused on that intent. He’d almost become the monster he didn’t want to be. Stiles is going to face that, face the knowledge that the nogitsune hurt people, innocent people, while wearing his body. 

He kinda feels sorry for the asshole.

She chats to him for a while, keeping him company, but eventually, his eyes start to drift shut. He feels her lips against his hand, a cool, comforting little kiss. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “Thank Scott for me.”

He thinks he hears her ask ‘ _what for?_ ’ but it’s too late; he’s already out.

\--

He half expects pain when he wakes. He’s woken up a couple of other times, briefly; never opened his eyes, but knew he wasn’t alone. He’s listened to Allison talking to him, and Kira, and Scott and Lydia. It’s a strange but heartwarming feeling; he’s not alone. He has friends, people to care for him, be here for him.

He has a pack.

Instead of the expected aching muscles and raw lungs, he’s instead met with that slightly strange but nice sensation of someone easing the pain away. He opens his eyes, blinking until they get used to the light. He doesn’t know what time it is; in here, the lights have always been on and there’s no window, so he’s lost track of day and night. Time is relative in here; it could be one in the afternoon, or it could be midnight.

He turns his head, expecting to see Scott. Instead, its Derek sat in the hideous plastic chair. He’s scooted it as close as possible and he keeps his hand around Isaac’s, holding it like he might break if Derek holds too tight. His head’s resting on the side of the bed, but he’s not asleep; his gaze is on their hands, on the black veins crawling up his own forearm.

He doesn’t seem to realize Isaac’s awake. Which means he’s been taking the pain while Isaac is asleep. He’s been helping him to sleep, and he’s been helping him to heal. 

“What are you doing here?” his voice is still raw, but he’s getting stronger, his healing getting faster each day.

Derek sits up quick, but doesn’t snatch his hand away like Isaac half expects. He looks tired; pale and withdrawn, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and his hair’s sticking up in a mess. 

“How do you feel?” he asks in lieu of answering Isaac’s question.

“Like hell.”

Derek’s smile is grim. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? This isn’t your fault either.” He’s getting sick of everyone saying they’re sorry. They don’t need that guilt. Not ever, but especially not right now when there are other concerns – like Stiles.

Derek doesn’t reply to that. He keeps easing Isaac’s pain until he feels like he’s floating. He gently withdraws his hand. Derek’s just hurting himself now.

“What time is it?” his tongue still feels thick and uncoordinated, but he can shape his words better now. 

“Eight pm.”

“Where’s Scott?”

“Looking for Stiles,” Derek replies. “We’ve all been searching for him, but he’s like a ghost. I tried to send Scott home to get some sleep.”

Isaac gives a soft little snort at that. Stiles is Scott’s best friend; as long as he’s out there and as long as there’s a chance that someone else might find him first and put him down ‘for the greater good’, there’s no chance in hell Scott would just go home. He’ll run himself into the ground searching. It’s something he’s always admired in Scott; his loyalty, his protectiveness. How he’ll go to the ends of the earth for someone he cares about. It feels nice to be one of those people, after so long of being cold and uncared about. 

But then he frowns, confused. Scott’s out there and Isaac knows him well enough to believe he won’t stop searching for a second. But then...that means he hasn’t been visiting Isaac, aside from the two brief occasions he remembers Scott talking to him.

“It was you,” he says. 

Derek doesn’t question him; he knows what Isaac means. From the start, it was Derek there, always there, taking his pain, comforting him without even needing to say a word. Making sure Isaac never felt alone.

He’s torn his time between helping to search for Stiles and being there for Isaac. No wonder he looks so exhausted. And even though he resents Derek still, his heart aches, because god, but this man is so selfless. He’s been hurt so much and yet he still puts himself last, still crawls on his belly over broken glass to help other people, to make sure these kids around him don’t get hurt. He still runs himself down trying to protect Isaac; his pack. 

“You should go. You can find him.”

Derek shakes his head. “You’re my pack.”

The _last of_ goes unspoken. He thinks of Erica, how scared and alone she must have been, dying at the hands of a vicious alpha. He thinks of her body, tossed carelessly into a closet, only to be stumbled upon like a second thought. And he thinks of Boyd. He thinks of how much it must have hurt to be killed by your own alpha’s claws. He thinks of how Boyd had only wanted friends and now...now he was gone. 

When he looks at Derek again, he knows instantly that they’re sharing the same thoughts.

“I killed him,” Derek says quietly. “I killed them.”

“No.”

“I brought them into this. I brought _you_ into this and you almost died too. I signed your death sentences the second I gave you the Bite.” 

“No,” Isaac says again.

Derek doesn’t look at him. There’s so much shame and self loathing on his face and it strikes Isaac how different Derek is from the man who did give them the Bite. He’s no longer running scared and trying to fight a war he knows he can’t win alone. He’s no longer full of anger and hatred – except for that he holds towards himself. The man in front of him is strong and selfless...and carries so much weight on his shoulders it’s a wonder he hasn’t broken already. There’s so much guilt in those eyes and Isaac can’t handle it. He wants to help, wants to say the right words.

What comes out is, “You threw a glass at me.”

Derek closes his eyes. “I know.”

“After everything...I trusted you. I never thought you’d do that. Never thought you’d be like _him_. And then...you threw it at me. You kicked me out.”

“I know,” it’s a whisper. Derek won’t meet his gaze.

“You were trying to protect me.”

His face turns away in shame. “Yes.”

“That was a pretty fucked up way of doing it.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not like him.” 

Derek does look at him then, out of sheer surprise more than anything, but there’s total honesty in Isaac’s words. What Derek did was fucked up. He’s done a lot of fucked up stuff. But so has Isaac. They _all_ have. That’s what’s so messed up about this world they now live in; Scott’s a hero, Derek’s a hero, Allison, Lydia, even Stiles, they’re all heroes, but they’re fucked up sons of bitches too. They’ve all made mistakes. 

And Derek...Derek knew Isaac would find shelter at Scott’s. Knew Isaac would be protected and taken care of by the McCalls. Knew he’d be safer. 

He’d been scared. Erica was dead. He’d been forced to kill Boyd. The alphas would go after Isaac next. And he’d known Isaac wouldn’t go willingly. Would never leave his alpha’s side. Would never leave _Derek_. So he’d got rid of him the only sure way he knew. And that was wrong. 

But Derek is not like his dad. Derek saved him. He gave Isaac a choice and Isaac took it. He took Isaac in and he protected him. He was there, when Isaac’s dad was slaughtered; he understood his pain and grief, when others would have judged him for mourning an abusive father. He’s always been there. He’s always been strong, always done his best to protect him, protect all of them, always been so selfless, so self sacrificing in his efforts to keep the people around him safe. 

And he knows Derek believes he doesn’t deserve the people who care about him. 

But he does. God, but he really does. 

“You can make it up to me with coffee,” he finally says. “And a muffin at that cafe in town I like.” 

Derek stares at him. There’s a kind of hope in his eyes, something almost childlike, like he can’t believe this chance, can’t believe that Isaac cares for him in that way, but then he looks down and those self depreciating thoughts are so obvious on his face and Isaac’s heart breaks for this stupid, selfless lump of a man he loves. 

“No arguing,” Isaac says firmly. “I’m an invalid here.” 

Derek cracks a smile at that, gaze soft. “Alright,” he says softly. “When you’re better.” 

Isaac grins and closes his eyes, sleepy. “Good. Now get out of here. Go find Stiles and save the day. Kick Scott’s ass for me for not visiting.” 

He hears the rustle of Derek’s jacket as he stands. There’s a gentle press of lips to his temple on the uninjured side of his face. 

This time, he welcomes sleep with a smile on his face. 

**Author's Note:**

> as i said, this is my first time writing for Derek/Isaac, so any criticism/advice is really appreciated.
> 
> if you have a prompt, feel free to send it here: maliaslydiamartin.tumblr.com/ask


End file.
